March 10th
by thursdayfalling
Summary: Steve doesn't mope around- he's not the type. He forces himself out of bed and makes coffee for himself and Sam, but as he sits with the hot mug in his hand, he lets himself remember.


March 10th comes and, for Steve Rogers, brings memories and pain with it. March 10th, the birthday of James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky, Steve's best friend. The man who fell off a train into ice and snow during World War II all those years ago.

Most recently, the Winter Soldier.

Bucky's birthday had gotten easier for him after a while, when Bucky was dead and it couldn't be changed or helped. Now Steve knew that he was alive.

He was alive and broken and so, so lost.

Steve had looked for him for so long, but finding an assassin who was trained to be invisible turned out to be harder then he expected, even with the help of Sam. They always found where he had hidden out just after he'd already run off again, leaving Sam and Steve in his wake. They would piece things together and be on their way. They were always just a few steps behind.

One day, Sam had placed a hand on Steve's shoulder and said, "Maybe your friend just doesn't want to be found."

He'd felt his heart fall to pieces, but he didn't stop looking. He had always been stubborn that way.

Bucky would have punched him on the shoulder and called him a punk.

Today, can't find it in himself to continue the wild goose chase. It's Bucky's birthday and Steve feels like he's mourning all over again. He is left to remember every previous birthday, every one of Bucky's stupid cocky smiles. The man is strong, but he knows pain when he feels it. This is pain, stabbing him and leaving empty holes in his chest.

Steve doesn't mope around- he's not the type. He forces himself out of bed and makes coffee for himself and Sam, but as he sits with the hot mug in his hand, he lets himself remember.

* * *

_Steve woke up at dawn to sneak out without Bucky noticing. Light had just begun to creep into the darkened corners of their bedroom. ( He'd shared the one-room apartment with Bucky ever since his mother had died. In this economy it made more sense to split the rent, anyways.) They didn't have curtains, never got around to spending the extra money, so every morning the light would filter in and shine in their eyes, waking them. He knew he had enough time to slink out of the apartment and into the sleeping streets of Brooklyn._

_ The little shop down the street was the target location. T hey didn't have much money to spare but Steve had sold some sketches for extra pocket cash, and he was determined that Bucky would have a nice birthday, cake and all. He just hoped the store was open._

_ To his good fortune and surprisingly enough, the sign on the door was flipped to say "Come in, we're open." He let out a quiet "Whoop!" and ventured inside, heading quickly to the bakery area._

_ He'd ordered a cake to be ready made for Bucky the night before. It had cost extra, but Bucky was worth it. The cake was just vanilla with white frosting, simple enough, but it had to be for him to afford it. Besides, Bucky would be pleased to have a cake at all. They didn't usually celebrate birthdays with all the extra expenses. The Depression had them low on cash. _

_ Bucky was going to love this. _

_ Steve bought the cake and rushed home, not quite running for the sake of his asthma. Bucky was luckily still asleep when he closed the door softly behind him and crept into their little kitchen to cut the cake. It was small but it was enough for the two of them. The cake was divided into four pieces. He packaged up the extra two and put them away for later. The others he put on two of their plates and brought them into the bedroom quietly. _

_ Steve set the plates on the little nightstand. He would wait for the other to wake up before eating his own piece. It was light enough in the room that he could sketch while he waited. Lazily, he roughed out a drawing of the slices of cake._

_ He hadn't realized Bucky had woken up until he heard his voice. "Cake for breakfast, Steve?" his friend teased, but there was a light in his eyes that said he was grateful. "Oh, hush up and eat it, " Steve replied, setting his sketchbook aside. Bucky grinned at Steve and Steve returned it, his own large smile kind of lopsided._

_ The cake was dry but sweet. When they finished eating and set their plates aside, Steve elbowed Bucky lightly. "Y'never said thank you, jerk," he commented, humor in his voice. Bucky caught his arm and pulled him in for a hug. "I know," his friend murmured. "Thank you, Steve."_

_ Steve had given Bucky the biggest smile ever, the kind that lit up his eyes._

_"Happy birthday, Buck."_

* * *

Steve smiles sadly and finishes his coffee. He stares distantly at the empty bottom of his mug. He can remember how happy they had been, back before everything. He can remember being small and Bucky completely enveloping him in his arms. He can remember everything and he knows that Bucky can't remember any of it. Does the Winter Soldier know that it's his birthday today? Steve shakes his head a little and looks up at the blank wall in front of him.

"Happy birthday, Buck," he says, as if his old friend could hear him. "Come home soon."


End file.
